


morning routine

by khepria



Category: Dangan Ronpa
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-18
Updated: 2014-10-18
Packaged: 2018-02-21 17:00:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2475698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/khepria/pseuds/khepria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Monday to Friday. The days blur into each other and it's the same routine everyday, but the only true constants are each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	morning routine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KannaOphelia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KannaOphelia/gifts).



> this was quite the challenge as it's been a while since i've engaged myself in the dangan ronpa fandom, and i hope i captured part of sakura's gentle chivalry and asahina's exuberance in this mundane slice-of-life piece.
> 
> as always, i would like to extend a grateful thank-you to kuruk for encouraging me in times where writing seems daunting and for lightening turmoil.
> 
> cheers!

_Knock_.

 _Knock, knock_.

Fifteen alarms starting at four in the morning with a grace period of fifteen minutes that diminishes to ten, then five, until it becomes once a minute, is not adequate enough in motivating Aoi to roll out of her school standard issue mattress today with sufficient time to prepare for her routine morning drills. She wobbles, her eyelids still heavy with sand and sleepiness, and opens her dorm room door. “Sakura-chan,” she welcomes without lifting her eyes upwards initially. There could be no one else who would be awake at this dark, unlit hour of morning, never mind at her door step. Aoi laughs sheepishly, a smile beginning to form on her face and she lowers her head into a slight apologetic bow, fingers working to untangle the knots in her dark hair. “Just give me two--no, _five!_ \--minutes to get ready, and then I’ll be good to go!”

“Was I too early?” Sakura asks solemnly. 

“Nnnn _oooo_.” Aoi’s right hand lets go of the door handle to cover her yawning mouth. Her left arm hits against the door and she elbows it to keep it propped open, supported also by the left foot that she places strategically to jam the door. She rolls her shoulders to loosen tense rotator cuff muscles. “I was awake a while ago,” she admits with chagrin, “just not... fully awake yet, y’know?”

“Asahina,” Sakura begins kindly, “if you are feeling sleep deficient, perhaps we should do this tomorrow instead.” As if it wasn’t Aoi who had suggested last night while flailing over difficult math problem sets that they should do their cardiovascular exercises together in the morning to take the edge off algebra’s brutal attack on her brain.  

She shakes her head vigorously. “That’s how people get lazy!” Aoi exclaims, excitement washing away the lingering remnants of lethargy clinging onto her psyche. She pivots enthusiastically, half of her body knocking against her door and ushers for Sakura to come in. “Seriously, only a jiffy! I just gotta wash my face and change and we’re set.”

Sakura smiles wryly at Aoi’s growing frenzy and doesn’t protest a second time. “Take your time,” she says and takes two steps in. The door clicks behind her. “There is no need to make haste.”

“Saaaakura-chan,” Aoi trills. “You’re too nice to me.”

Sakura hums noncommittally and makes her to way Aoi’s sleeping area presumedly to sit while waiting for Aoi to assemble herself for their workout. However, to Aoi’s surprise, instead of seating herself, Sakura instead fluffs and rearranges Aoi’s pillows before starting to fold her duvet blanket.

“Ooh!” Aoi cries, face alarmed. The bristles of her hair brush were still caught on knots when she rushes over to her bed. She crouches and runs her hand along the underside of her mattress to re-tuck the top white cotton flat sheet in. “Don’t.... ah, Sakura-chan!” She leaps for the duvet in Sakura’s hands and misses. “I can...!” 

“Let me,” insists Sakura. She puts down the feather duvet and pulls at the the outer corners to straighten the folds. 

“You shouldn’t have to,” Aoi says with a grimace, cheeks flushing, her palms smoothening out the wrinkles in her bed covers. “Sorry...”

“You do not need to apologize,” Sakura says. “I wanted to.” She finally sits down on the made bed. Her hands reach up to Aoi’s head, Sakura’s right hand briefly cusping Aoi’s cheek before she grabs the hair brush. She gingerly teases it from Aoi’s hair, and gently lifts her palms from the bed and firmly places its pink handle in her open hands before nudging Aoi’s fingers closed to furl. “I cannot call myself your friend if I cannot do this for you at minimum.”

Aoi trembles and tears begin to well in her eyes but she doesn’t want to cry, she absolutely shouldn’t, because Sakura’s words are not sad. Her austere stare ignites a fleeting, momentous burst of gratitude within Aoi’s being and it lingers like afternoon tea. Sakura is so wonderful that if Aoi had a fraction of her grace, Aoi’s heart would burst into a hundred thousand pieces of sunshine. “You’re too nice to me!” she repeats, her voice warbling and the flat side of her hair brush smacks Sakura’s shoulder playfully. Aoi wipes away her tears with her free hand, feigning a yawn. “Next time, I’ll wake up on time,” she promises. “You’ll see!”

Sakura has no doubt.

 

* * *

 

Instead of circuit exercises in the gymnasium or morning laps in the pool, they resolved to run outside until radio gymnastics at six o’clock. The hallways are silent save for their footsteps, and when Sakura pushes down on the groaning exterior door’s metal bar to swing it open, cool morning gale rushes in and sweeps against their exposed thighs. Aoi squeals in response to the abrupt change in air temperature and zips up her red sports jersey. “Chilly,” she moans. 

“It is cold,” agrees Sakura. “But once we begin, it will not be as bad.”

Aoi tightens her gold shoelaces, making sure they were tied securely and wouldn’t undo easily. She wiggled her toes and smiles jubilantly, beaming up at Sakura whose lips curl slightly in reply. She inhales deeply, taking in a lungful of the outdoor air. It’s not as invigorating as clear, refreshing pool water, but it’s a close second. The flood lights flicker, the high pressure sodium casting a warm, yellowish light onto pristine outdoor facilities. An artificial, temporary sunlight. On exhale, she takes grasp of Sakura’s wrist and moves forward. Her first stride is long, punctuated with a bounce, which transforms her next few steps into a slow skip. “Let’s start with a walk!” she cheers.

They amble side by side without exchanging words and over five minutes, their pace changes from leisurely to brisk speed walking. The sun begins to ascend above the horizon line, its rays peeking through the spaces in between looming glass office towers and the red and yellow leaves of the trees outlining the perimeter of Hope’s Peak Academy. When their feet pass the starting line marked in red ground in white paint, Aoi bursts into a sprint. 

Five seconds later, Sakura surges forward.

She wills herself not to burst into rambunctious laughter. Keep it together, Aoi! She knows very well that for the four and eight hundred meter freestyle events, keeping her breathing steady is crucial and this is no different. It isn’t a race, but Aoi can’t help but push herself to match Sakura’s incredible pace. Her thighs are burning from the build-up of lactic acid. She has never felt more alive. If Aoi gave up now, she could not, cannot, call herself an Olympic-worthy athlete. The stinging doesn’t deter her. Sakura’s broad backside spurs her forward. She fights for gold!

On their third lap, the both of them decelerate to a more modest, moderate pace for the sake of stamina. Sakura’s thumb outlines the bone of her jaw to her ear and in between the arc between her thumb and index fingers, she collects thick, unruly hair and sweeps it aside to one shoulder to expose her slick nape to autumn atmosphere. The coolness contrasts pleasantly against the radiating heat from her suntan skin. When they pass the marker for the sixth time and adrenaline numbed their prickling legs, Aoi hurrahs loudly. 

“I feel good!” she shouts to the sky. “How about you, Sakura-chan?”

“I as well,” Sakura replies. The immediate aftermath of cooling down after jogging must be akin to walking on clouds because her legs feel _so_ light. Her knuckles brush against the red sleeve of Aoi’s sports jersey and there is no better way to start a morning. The endorphins released during their strenuous exercise imparts a strong euphoric feeling, amplified by Aoi’s presence. 

Together, their breathing slows to baseline and their hearts continue pitter pattering.

 

* * *

 

 

Any athlete having merit knows that the best time to eat is immediately after a workout because that is when your body begins to reinforce all of the micro tears in your skeletal muscle, followed by shortly before to boost your performance because much like a car with an empty gas tank, an athlete without glycogen stores and accessible blood glucose isn’t capable of running. Sakura measures out four scoops of chocolate protein powder and empties it into the blender. It soaks into the unsweetened almond milk. Before replacing the cap on the milk carton, Sakura asks, “Asahina, would you like some as well?” as a courtesy, but she is already pouring another portion of almond milk.

“Yes, please!” is her ardent quip because Aoi is a girl worth her weight in gold metal with a thin layer of copper alloy, the inverse composition of an Olympic first place medal. She knows what she needs for muscle gain. The deep fryer’s red indicator light turns off, and Aoi plops in two frozen donuts into the vat of oil. It sizzles violently, the result of melting ice and evaporating water happening in a fraction of a second. She gazes down pensively, and adds a third. “Do _you_ want a donut?”

“I am fine,” Sakura says. Aoi’s third donut will inevitably be given to Sakura over the course of breakfast and a fourth would be too much. Excess consumption of sweetness, monosaccharide melting on her tongue, in the morning will leave her mouth with a tart aftertaste lasting until lunchtime. She scoops an additional portion of protein powder into her concoction. For carbohydrates, she adds two peeled bananas and a handful of milk chocolate chips. Two teaspoons of cinnamon for flavour and a pinch salt to bring it out. With a single press of a button, it blends together into a form easy for consumption.

Aoi scoops out her fried dough delight onto a bed of paper towels, staining them a translucent gold.

Sakura’s breakfast consists of the typical bowl of rice, hard boiled eggs, and miso soup. She eats, chopsticks pensively slicing apart egg white and chalky yolk as Aoi picks at her donuts with her fingers, confectionary sugar sticking to them. “Toudai scouts are coming today,” she says before she pops the final morsel remaining of her first donut, “sometime ‘dis afternoon.” They came by Hope’s Peak Academy routinely to check up on her swimming progress, to make sure that Japan’s brightest and capable is continuing to improve exponentially.

Sakura takes a sip of miso. “Should we have swam this morning instead, then?” 

“No,” says Aoi. “This morning was great! I wouldn’t change a thing... mm, Sakura, this donut is so _good_. You don’t know what you’re missing.” She dabs the remaining oil off the third donut, the one sans powdered sugar and icing. “Here, have this one!”

“Thank-you,” says Sakura, for the donut and for so many other things left unvocalized. She bites into it conscientiously, hyperaware of Aoi’s attentive gaze awaiting her opinion. It’s much more palatable than Aoi’s usual morning nutrition affair. The dough is light and fluffy. “It is excellent,” and Aoi nods earnestly, her entire face brightening. 

“Right?!”

The cafeteria grows busier towards the end of their meal. Aoi finishes her leftover donut with zest, smearing icing onto spare napkins as she pries them apart, filling in the conversation with amicable prattling while Sakura finishes the remainder of her miso and protein drink. The saltiness and thin consistency of the soup broth contrasts sharply from Sakura’s vicious, sweeter drink concoction. “Perhaps I should not have added in the chocolate chips,” Sakura says.

Aoi reaches forward to grab at Sakura’s glass, sampling it as if it would have differed from her own serving. She tastes it, blinking excessively as if bewildered before transitioning to a more mellow expression. “I think it tastes fantastic!” she admonishes, blue eyes twinkling as she returns the glass to Sakura. “I can’t even taste the whey!”

That isn’t what Sakura criticized about her drink, but she leaves it be. The pad of her thumb outlines where Aoi’s lips were moments ago before bringing it back to her own. For a brief moment, it tastes too sweet, like too much added sugar.

 

* * *

 

 

The first bell rings soon after they settle in their classroom seats, Aoi three seats in front of Sakura, and long after they clean their fingers of grease and white powdered sugar. By the time the lunch bell sounds, Aoi is already clamouring in her seat and twists to look behind her, past Kuwata grimacing at the Japanese literature homework assignment, and yells, “let's work out tomorrow morning!” without specifying who.

Not that there is any need to because Sakura, with no lingering aftertaste in her mouth, knows, and nods.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
